


All of these Shadows

by ElectricViola



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark, Dead People, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, completely AU no spoilers whatsoever, dark themes, jeankasa - Freeform, levimika - Freeform, levixmikasa, rivamika
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26476807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricViola/pseuds/ElectricViola
Summary: Levi and Mikasa just barely survive a bomb blast, and base instincts embroil them in a web of confusion. Her life is knocked off kilter and she struggles to find her balance again.(post-war AU, post-canon AU, set 4 years after the manga's current events which have likewise been passed through an AU filter)
Relationships: Levi & Erwin Smith, Levi/Erwin Smith, Mikasa Ackerman & Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman & Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman & Levi, Mikasa Ackerman/Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman/Levi, Mikasa Ackerman/Levi/Eren Yeager, Rivamika - Relationship, revimika
Comments: 68
Kudos: 98





	1. Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a redux of sorts on a piece that I worked on four years ago, with a different set of characters. I remember that story fairly well (since it's just SMUT LOL) so I didn't read it until after I finished writing this, which was a fun little experiment to see if I've gotten more depraved, or better at writing. The answer is... I never fucking learn anything do I?! Also, turns out I was fucked in the brain all along. Plus I might have enough for a full story. Thank God for Isayama, who gave me so much material to work with.

I can only remember being blasted through a window, and I think I'm in the middle of crashing down to my death when the booming ring in my ears forces me to regain consciousness.

My vision is washed white for a split second. When it comes back to me, it's a wonderful sight sprawling before me that greets me. All these trees surrounding the building; which probably now looks like a nothing more than crater. So big, and green and fresh... Yes, I wouldn't mind dying here too much.

But as fate would have it, something in my body compels me to right myself before landing, despite not quite knowing which way is up, and which way is down. Ah yes, there's the jarring pain in my knee as I land squarely on it. I hiss at the pain that shoots through my entire leg, and roll over; I am flat on my back. I think maybe I pass out because I see flashes, a sick carousel of the ones I've loved. There's Erwin, there's Hange, there's Petra lying dead, face up against a tree. I think it's coming to get me too, the sweet embrace. I want it, _oh God how I want it_. Just let go of me.

But I should be so lucky, right?

It takes me a moment to realise there's no way I am dying because I'm just in too much pain, unrelenting and pulsing. I look down and realise I banged up my knee pretty good when I came down directly on what I now recognise as a gnarl of roots through my shaky vision, because my trousers are just shredded at that point. I don't know how I'm not singed to heaven, considering I was so close to the blast. I am limping as I head off into a random direction in the forest. What else can I do? I didn't keep a compass and a map on me for a random, tiny diplomatic mission, did I. The forest has to end eventually, right? I will survive. Like a damn cockroach, the same way I always do.

Flashes of a white dress to my side, just barely within my field of vision. There was only one female in the room with us.

"Mikasa," I call out. "Mikasa!"

I do briefly consider the option of this being purely a hallucination, but I know I'm not imagining her when I realise she's lost her jacket, she doesn't turn, she's just panting, facing away from me and appearing to be brandishing some weapon she must have found in the woods.

"Mikasa Ackerman," I yell again as I stride over to her as well as I can with my busted knee, my bruised back, my voice trembling in some form of relief that at least _one_ of my men made it out, and this time she hears me. She whips around and I almost fall over because she's attacking me.

"Hey!" I bark sharply as I intercept her arm with a swipe that would break a man's rib's just before her axe can arc down right onto my head and split it in two. She shrieks, and then her expression drops out of that panicky look that I've seen so many times in battle that it almost kicks in my own instinct to fight. One look at her and I know she's fucked up; there's not one part of her that's untouched by that little present that someone planted, all smeared with mud or bloody red marks.

"Oh, Captain," she whimpers once she recognises me, "Captain...!"

Yeah, she's just about ready to collapse in relief. I do wrench the axe off of her--she is holding onto it like a lifeline, and she is strong like an ox herself, so that takes a moment. "Give that to me," I hiss. I toss it aside, and it lands softly in the mossy grass.

She is leaning on me, her hand on my chest as I do my best to hold her up while checking her for injuries. Minus scrapes and bruises here and there, especially visible on her legs where she managed to rip her skirt in a long line almost up to her knee.

"Where are the others?" She does push herself off of me, and collapse now, and scrambles all the way up against a tree before I can do anything.

She's blubbering helplessly, pressing her hands to her face.

"Hey," I say harshly. "Get up."

She wails, pushes my hand away when I try to take hers.

"That is an order, soldier." I kick at her boot, which is stretched out before her like a rag doll's, limp and lifeless. That only makes her wail harder. I grit my teeth as I reach down, dig my fingers into her arms and haul her to her feet. "I said _get up_."

She falls against me, and she makes no effort to move away so I let her cling to me, because I know that she will collapse again.

I am briefly stunned by the delicate whiff of perfume still clinging to the skin of her pretty, white neck.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she's whimpering into my chest. I'm not exactly a tall man, she's barely half an inch shorter than me, but she's so curled in on herself that she looks pitiful, like a child.

"Shut up," I hiss in panic. Why do these females do this bullshit, I just don't understand. Or do I not? I'm shivering myself. When blink, I see Erwin again. "Stop that, stop it!" I shake her, quite roughly, and she squeaks.

"I think... I think... " She covers her face again with another squeak, shaking her head.

Something about her trembling lips makes me stop yelling at her for a moment. It's not like I'm the stoic cunt I usually am either, right now. My vision is shaking. I am consumed by the memory of falling, just falling, after literally going through a closed window. If I hadn't woken up when I did, I most assuredly would have landed on my head and bled to death. Which would have been fine, but Mikasa in this state would probably would not have stood a chance of making it back to HQ without me.

I shudder as I soften my hold on her arm. "Look, it's going to be alright. Or maybe not. But we need to move and start looking for them. Alright, sweetie?" She nods frantically, desperate to hang onto my words, and I try to smile at her which is a mistake because it makes her double down on her crying, and I'm at the end of my rope. So I caress her arms, and let her cry, because honest to fuck I want to start crying too. I don't even know what the fuck is going on.

Who blew up the meeting room? I don't know the answer; but her hands are on my chest, warm and small, and suddenly, deliberately, she is caressing me back. As she trembles against me, I get another trace of her bright, girlish perfume, hiding under the wet scent of the forest that her fall has slathered her in. Without quite meaning to, I lean closer, and I lower my head to inhale her scent, close by the crook of her neck. It's warm there, so soft, so fragrant.

There is an electric charge in the air, one that sets off faint alarm bells in the back of my mind. And I don't think I am the only one who feels it because she is starting to calm down; her deep, slow breaths are returning to her.

_What are you doing?_

I lower my lips to hers, and that shuts her up quickly enough. She tastes like vanilla chapstick, and when I draw back her lips are parted and her face is pink. She laughs a little, but she's not smiling, and this time I don't know who kissed who as our lips come together again, my vision flashing with every delicate brush of her pretty little mouth.

"Open," I command, muttering the words against her lips, and when our tongues touch her body jolts as though she's been zapped. I press her to me, small and fragile as she feels, discretely carrying the strength of titans inside her.

Her hands are already groping for the button and zipper of my trousers, and I hiss when instead she ends up pressing her palm to my erection, sensitive and ready.

Faint visions of brown hair, longer, less serious, flicker in and out of my mind. I ignore them; there's only this girl now, young, pretty, and fuckable now that I think about it.

She moans into our kiss and I'm already a goner. I walk her backwards onto the tree, where her back thuds and she gasps. I bend for a second, just long enough to hook my arms behind her knees and I lift her up so our hips are aligned. I grind against her and when she moans and grinds back against me I swear to God the bomb blast was almost worth it, if that's what it cost for me to feel like this again, electric with anticipation of what I am going to do to her, even for the fraction of a moment. I pull back, just to push back against her exactly where she needs it and she's already sighing softly in pleasure, her soft, pale arms laced around my neck.

I am vaguely aware of the pain in my knee. It's not going to stop me; I let her legs down in the middle of our kiss, and I whip her around and press her to the tree.

"Brace yourself against the tree, sweetheart." I barely recognise my own voice. It's soft, and tender, and I haven't heard this voice in so long that I almost startle myself into losing my erection.

Oh, but no, that's not happening today. I need to fuck, and she clearly needs to get fucked. Can't disappoint her, can I? Girl twenty years younger than me, my junior in ranks, a subordinate utterly starved of attention from the one she wants it from, barely escaping death in a bomb blast and now warm and safe in my arms, completely safe, the safest girl in the world, and panting like a bitch in heat with her body sweetly bent under mine; how can I reject this? How could any man?

I bite her neck, pull her back slightly against me. By grabbing a fistful of her hair and pressing down on the small of her back with my palm to make her arch down I position her the way I like it.

I show her clothes similar disregard; I shove my hand under her tattered skirts, drag down her knickers with quick jerks. When they're at her knees, I simply put my booted foot on it and kick it all the way down and she steps out of them delicately. I feel that delicious squeeze in my heart as I watch her, obedient and all warmed up, as I unbuckle my belt and free my erection, which is almost painfully swollen and hot in my hand as I pump it a couple of times before guiding it to her entrance, which is easy because she is wet as hell.

With one arm wrapped around her midsection and one on her shoulder, I thrust once, and then again, harder, when I feel resistance and tear right through it as she screams, once, and she goes limp in my arms. I am vaguely surprised by this discovery, but I don't care. I sigh in relief at the heat inside her, buried deep to the hilt, and I am single-mindedly focused on one thing and one thing only for now.

I pull back to push myself back in her; she gasps as she tries to scramble away but I hold her firm against me, reaching under her to cup her breast as she bends forwards into the tree, the knuckles on her pale hands almost white from gripping the rough bark.

She is so warm and _tight_ inside that all reasonable thought it stripped of my mind, and I am only vaguely aware of the blood coating my cock. I understand why she tried to get away but it doesn't really matter now; it's already done. Might as well enjoy ourselves. I can tell I am too big, and it hurts her, and that is the only thing that keeps me from having an orgasm right as soon as push myself in after pulling out. I do what I know to do best with women; I talk my way through it, something that doesn't quite work as well with men.

"There, there," I whisper. "Shh, you sweet thing..." I can't help it; I pull out and shove it back in, hard. She gasps against the tree, her fingers still almost trying to dig into the rough bark. "You're so tight, you're so fucking wet, relax, I promise it'll feel good," I continue, leaning in for soft kisses on her neck. "Your skin is so soft, Mikasa..."

She is talented, and she is strong, more so than any of the men, but she is still female. I keep whispering to her, I keep kissing her, and soon enough, she is softly sighing and tilting her head back to let me kiss her exposed neck.

I roll my hips against hers, and she moans again. My hands are restless on her body; I want take her, take all of her, and I feel her breasts through her clothes, firm and warm, I run my fingers over her delicate waist,

I keep going at it, increasingly violent with every thrust that threatens to push her almost flat between myself and the tree, and soon she is begging, just _begging_ me in between squeals of pleasure.

"Harder, harder, please, oh God I need it, please...!"

"Arch your back," I whisper, and she does it like a harlot who's had a lifetime of practice and it's just _excellent_ for me.

She is moaning sweetly with every thrust, and I am left groaning at the exquisite sensation of her impossible heat. I feel like I'm losing my mind as I fuck her, but I have to hold myself back because I can hear how her sounds of pleasure are rising in pitch, in volume, how restless her legs are getting as her shoulders quiver, trying to latch onto that incomparable feeling of completion. Her neck is all hot and flushed when I kiss it with an open mouth, unable to contain the urge to suck on her skin and leave plum-coloured bruises on her pretty skin.

I'm grunting and panting myself and it's so hard not to come right there, but waiting is worth it. Suddenly she's trembling, her muscles are quivering, inside, and I know she's about to come around my cock when she reaches back and digs her nails into the muscles of my arse until I roar in pain and twist her arm behind her back.

"Stop that, you bitch," I hiss, and that does it. She's moaning like a whore and pushing her hips back against me with such fervour that I have to hold her still so she doesn't make me come, and almost miss the incredible flexing of her muscles as she orgasms.

It doesn't take me long after that. It's just crazed, powerful thrusting, and choked groaning, with one hand at her hips and the other holding her arm twisted flat on her back in a painful grip, using my vicious hold on her to pull her into my thrusts so it's rough and _tight_. I wouldn't have normally been so harsh, but I need it, and so does she.

With a guttural gasp from deep in my chest, I throw my head back and come inside her tight cunt. The release is so sweet that my knees buckle; I am forced to reach over her shoulder and lean forward with my hand on the tree. My seed fills her up in violent spurts, and she likes it as much as I do because she's squealing in delight.

I can't help it. She's too delicious, pushing back gently against me and sighing to prolong this feeling, her hair messy from our fuck. I twist her head back to drop open mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, as I ride my high, selfishly perhaps, but just for this moment I hope to let the peace last while it can. My cock is softening inside her, but I don't pull out, because once I do I know the spell will be broken and there will be a price to pay. So I prolong this. I delay my death sentence.

She recovers far sooner than I expect; soon she is like a statue against me, still and barely alive.

Here comes my death.

"Get off me," she says in a trembling voice. "Get off!"

She shoves at my shoulder, and then again, harder, when I don't move. Shocked, despite the fact that I sort of did see this coming, I pull out of her, turning away and struggling with my trousers and my belt and my cock which is covered in a thin film of her blood and my come because my hands are just trembling that badly.

I put my back to the wood, rough as it is even through my clothes, when she pushes herself off of it, cover my mouth in shame and stare at the ground. My knee is busted, there is no doubt about it. The pain comes crashing back. She is circling around like a child, blindly searching for something in the filthy forest floor.

I spot my seed seeping down her smooth legs; I can't help but lift my eyes to keep looking. There's the irresistible pang of desire in my gut at the sight of her, the state I've put her in--me, I did this to her, a woman like her--but what surprises me most is the genuine wish that the explosion _had_ killed me.

"I wouldn't have touched you, then." The words escape from my lips, and I only realise I've spoken aloud when her head snaps around and she looks at me with her vacant eyes and my heart stops.

It is here, my death.

Dead man walking.

Back hurts, leg hurts. Foot hurts. The mouth feels good.


	2. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa and Levi arrive at HQ

I finally find my knickers. They're filthy, absolutely smeared in the muddiness of the forest and with boot prints on them. He has ruined one in a set of seven, so that means I won't be at peace until I buy a whole other pack.

"Don't touch that," he says, gently touching holding me back from picking up my rubbished underwear.

I shake him off. He doesn't try to touch me again, I also don't try to bend again.

My mind is still blank when he whispers, just above the rustling leaves, "This way." And I set off after him.

It is a horrible walk back. He is limping, and I am limping a little too, for entirely different reasons. I am trying not to look at him, and I get the vague feeling he too is avoiding looking at me because he just seems too keen on staring straight ahead of himself, only whipping in alarm when critters hop over the crunch of the forest now and then.

I want to look forward to getting back to HQ. But I can only consider the slick of his seed inside me, on me, between my thighs, the blood that he drew and my own wetness. It's still aching between my legs. My thoughts are running in circles; I can only pray this secret dies with us and that the filth of the forest brushes away evidence of our intercourse.

What will they think, seeing me like this? Will they spot the blood, the semen? His bruises might be proof enough. Would we be stripped of our titles? Even after all these years, I am not familiar with military regulations in this country, especially when it comes to matters of fraternisation. I signed the papers, yes, but I never read. I've never had to.

More than once, as the sun begins to set, I contemplate the fact that I am done with my life. Could it possibly get any worse? I wish I hadn't survived the fall. Who survives been blown back right through a door and into the wall? _Nobody_ , that's who. I am cursed, cursed for life to a pitiful existence of emptiness and violence.

By the time we get to somewhere, it's hours later, and it's dark, and we haven't said a word to each other. It's somewhere close to Command, because there's a well that I faintly recognise, because there are the soldiers in uniform rushing over with their hands braced on their weapons so they won't clatter around, no doubt alarmed by the state of our clothes and Levi's presence itself, here in the flesh, the god of war, everybody's bloody hero.

I almost want to laugh. But I can still feel him, behind me, pumping in and out of me as though I am his by right, holding me like a doll made specially for him.

Why am I still trembling inside, thinking of it?

He collapses in relief next to me, and our crowd erupts in shouts and gasps as two shoulders lunge forward and hook his arms over their shoulders to hold him upright.

I take that as permission to fall to my knees, as well. I am exhausted beyond my limits; even the rocky ground feels like a fluffy bed.

I think I see sorrow in his eyes as I leave off with one of the soldiers who offers me his hand to help me to my feet, shushes me when I start sobbing, keeping a respectful but clearly concerned distance from me in case I fall over, and tells me, "It's okay, it's okay, a couple of your comrades made it back safe, you're alright, we'll take you to them when you're alright." Out of the corner of my eye I see two men assisting Levi walk, their arms around his back and his laced on their shoulder.

"Is Connie back? And Armin? And--and--" who else was there?

This man, the soldier, looks at me with a mild sort of panic, and whatever he says, I do not hear, because I'm on my knees again. Suddenly heavy footsteps are rushing at me.

"Oh, thank God, thank God..." someone hisses, someone who's approaching me rapidly, his boots clicking into the stony floor at the well. The voice belonging to someone who slides his arms under my legs and my back, and lifts me up as though I weighed little more than a feather. I feel around his face, desperate, panicking. There's the stubble on his cheek, and I feel him stiffen in confusion when I touch him. It's just Jean, and I almost crumble in relief.

"I forgot you stayed back," I whimper. "I'm so glad, I'm so glad--"

"What happened?" he hisses.

"I almost didn't find my way back here..." I whisper as I wrap my arms around him, and I'm ready to cry again. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. I don't care. He's warm and solid, and he's not _Levi_.

The soldier from earlier speaks out. "May I suggest, sir, questions later, sir. Look at the state of her."

"Well," he says softly, only to _me_ , "you're here now."

The up-down, up-down, up-down motion of being carried, as though on the back of a horse, is calming. It cajoles me into a faint comfort, the sort that you know will only last until you're alone again, and I nestle closer into his neck with my arms wrapped around his shoulder.

"It was a nightmare, Jean..."

"I know, I know..." he whispers to me. But he doesn't know, does he? He hasn't the foggiest. It's a while up the stairs, to the dorms, _up, down, up down, up, down_ motions, and I'm just repeating what I said, and he's just repeating what he said.

This keeps happening, the same dialogue, over and over again, with tremendous patience, until one of his men clicks a door open, and Jean drops me off on a bed, unrealistically soft, like a cloud. I am filthy like this, my thighs covered in Levi's come still, and maybe my blood, and just smeared in shitty forest stuff, but I cannot help but sigh into my pillow and rolling my head on it, as though Jean is not kneeling by my bed at all, staring me with intense concern and for once lacking that adoring look that unnerves me.

"Thank you, Jean," I say, as I start sobbing once more. I clamp my hand to my mouth. I am ashamed, so ashamed, but at this point the worst of it is Jean watching me with his eyes wide, his hands loosely hanging by his side as if he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Don't thank me," he says as he finally decides to take my hand. It's large, fingers long and elegant, tan with the sparse hairs between the knuckles. "I was so worried, after the guards came rushing..."

"Oh... The blast. You're talking about the blast, right?" He nods, slowly, the concern on his face vaguely extending to my mind's wellbeing and not just the fact itself. Vaguely, I think I must not forget myself. Ears ringing, body hurting, _bleeding_ , I must not let myself show. "Is Connie back?" Who else was there, again?

My vision is hazy from my tears and my confusion, but I know a man at the end of his rope when I see one. I pull my hand away, ignoring that hurt look he gives me. There's nothing more I want to say. I cover my face, shriek into my palm.

"Look," he says in a sigh. "You're all messed up; we don't have to speak now. And you sure took your time coming back. I'm sure they will, as well."

"How long was I gone?"

"You two, with the Captain? Pretty much the whole day, Mikasa..." His voice is trembling and even as clever as he might be, he cannot hide it. "I'll tell them to draw you a bath and then you can rest in here."

"How can I rest, Jean?" I know he hears me, because he pauses before he takes my hand again, and caresses it with his thumb. That's all.

I don't say anything. I pass out before he leaves because I do not notice that he is gone before he is, and awaken when one of the female delegates gently shakes me awake. "Your bath is ready, Mikasa..." I do not recognise her, but it isn't rare for people to know and call me by name.

She wraps me in long blankets that cover my ankles before she guides me to the baths. I almost want to say, _no, don't, I'm filthy,_ but she's so soft with me that I am in tears again and I cannot speak.

I feel like it's been hours of this bath, and I'm still shivering in the warmth of it, still weeping about everything. It feels illegal to be this comfortable, after everything that happened to me today.

"I heard a lot of things about you," she says with some humour on her face, "but I never knew someone who's capable of crying so much!"

I have to laugh at this, even through my tears. If she sees the blood between my legs, she gives no indication of it.

"It's going to be alright, sweetie. You're just fine."

 _Sweetie_. The word echoes through my mind again, a deeper voice, with his chest to mine. I honestly don't know what to think, at this point. Her words just make me start crying again.

I'm no sweetie.

I'm the farthest thing from it.

I want to feel something against me, inside me. It's all I need, and then I know I will be alright.

Jean is waiting for me outside, leaning against the wall until he sees me, and he straightens out. My knees buckle as soon as my attendant lets go of my elbow, and Jean shoots forward to collect me off the floor again.

"You're bruised up," he says as he vaguely gestures as the purple marks on the white skin of my neck.

"I took quite a tumble."

He shakes his head in sorrow, and I almost want to slap him because I want no pity. It makes me ill. He doesn't let go of my arm, not even once.

On our way back I am faintly aware that these are not my barracks, but I don't think on it, because all I need is a clean, horizontal place to rest my body on and that is all that occupies my mind. I dismiss thoughts of Levi, hard as I can, turning to obsessing about all the people I killed, all the people who died, all just to have something awful covered by something more awful.

One of his underlings is pulling back the covers, and Jean slides me onto the bed as gently as he can--but I can feel an unmistakable reserve in his body, a tension that he hides well enough on normal days. He is trying to touch me as little as possible, and I can feel the stilted emotions in my bones.

"Mikasa, did you see anything strange?" he says in a rush. "Do you know who could have done it?"

"I..." I cover my eyes, start crying with my knees drawn up to my chest.

"Lieutenant, sir..." A quiet plea to leave me alone.

With Jean it's all, oh _Lieutenant this, Lieutenant that_ , and with me it's just _Mikasa oh here, Mikasa oh look over there_ \--

"Yes, alright, I know." His voice is almost sharp, impatient. He's running terse fingers through his mussed hair. "You've seen worse, Mikasa. Come on. Don't do this..."

"You don't know what I've _seen_ ," I mutter, trying so hard not to cry in front of him.

"You remember what happened, then?"

"... No."

"Alright..."

I am blubbering, and I know it, something about the moss and the scratches and--

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh no no no--"

"Shouldn't we get her evaluations done tonight, sir?"

"No staff on site after twelve, Sergeant," says Jean over his shoulder.

"Emergency Medics?"

"Do you see a medical emergency on hand?" Jean says a little impatiently. "Just. Watch her for the night. Nobody goes in or out of here."

"Where will you stay, sir?"

"In the mess hall. I don't know. Wherever."

"Wait," I say, my head whipping upright. "Where is my room?"

"In the female wing."

"Why am I not there?"

"Because this was closer, Mikasa..." I think he is getting annoyed, so I stop pestering him, and instead just take his hand. It's warm, and rough, but I do not care because he is a human body that I get to touch and feel and I need that right now.

"This is your room?" No wonder is smells like cigarettes in here.

"Yes."

"Why can't you stay here?"

"Uh--"

"Please. Don't leave me."

"Umm--"

"I can't be left alone. Please please please--"

"I'll stay," he says with a resounding lack of confidence in his voice, squeezing my hand right back. "I'll be here."

"Thank you..." I am vaguely aware of the sergeant stepping out, discretely.

"You're going to be alright," he says to me,

"Yes," I say with a deep breath. "I have to be."

_I have to eliminate Levi Ackerman._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short one, I'm editing what was supposed to be the rest of the chapter because I really haven't been well at all. Sorry about being slow, I believe I am finally starting to get better so I can get back to work (and writing SMUT hahahaha)
> 
> As always, feedback appreciated!


	3. Make a Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa goes to the doctors for her checkups and strings Jean along with her for ~plot reasons~ huehuehue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man it's rly fkin cold these days my feet are like blocks of ice

I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. It smells of cigarettes.

Suddenly it's bright outside, and Jean is in his uniform, leaning his cheek on his closed fist and legs stretched out. He's still in his armchair, his elbow on the table next to it. For an absurd moment I believe that he got ready early on to come see me, but then I notice he's got his eyes closed. He's breathing through parted lips, still asleep.

Casting a look about his room I do note that my room is nicer than his, with his faded curtains and the peeling walls. I almost laugh, seconds before reality hits me and the previous day's actions come back to me. When I try to move out of bed, the sudden soreness hits me somewhere inside. I'm aching all over. I suppose being blown through a door does that to you. Also getting fucked when you're just desperate to feel something, anything at all, must contribute as well.

"Jean," I say as hobble over to him to I shake him awake.

"Oh," he says, bleary eyed with dark circles and all. "Mikasa."

"Yes."

"I got your papers fast-tracked last night, they're ready," he croaks as he nods at an envelope on which his elbow previously rested.

"You left me here?"

"I had to. I'm sorry."

"Will you take me to my appointments?" I say, fully aware of how selfish I am being because I know how occupied he can be these days.

"I'll take a shower and be right there." He doesn't miss a beat as he speaks.

I scratch at the ache on my wrist while I wait for Jean to get ready. He sure takes his time; I was quick with my shower, and I regret believing that Jean would have been too because now I am left alone to my thoughts.

"Ready for the day?" he asks when he finally turns up with damp hair darkening his blue uniform at the collars.

"Yes."

"Let's go."

The street smells like fuel and is dark with smoke, even this early in the morning. We walk in the silence that hangs in the air, forced and unwelcome, because I want to _shout_ , and I know he too wishes to speak words that can't quite work their way up his throat by the way he keeps turning to me only to turn away.

One of those horrible streetcars whizzes by me, honking. In a flash I am plastered to the nearest wall, clutching my throat, and Jean is leaning in to peek at my face through my hair.

"Hey," he says softly, puzzled.

"Oh, it's you."

His eyes are shapeless, colourless, in worry, and he says nothing as he leads me away by the elbow, releasing me as soon as he finds me stable enough.

I'm surprised at the feeling of loss when he lets me go.

The building's not even that far, but I managed to guilt trip him with watery eyes and soft pleas into accompanying me. I can't be alone, I can't, because every time I am, it's the faces of Connie and Armin and... the others, I suppose, whirring through my mind like a carousel.

The physical exam is a regular one, where they strip you and put you in those white garbs where you're easier to see. Jean is outside, and I am barely there, a ghost, present but not living, as the stocky nurse circles around me, making quick marks on her chart while she asks me the standard questions before going into the specifics of the accident.

"Name and age?"

"Mikasa Ackerman, twenty three. I'm here for the mandated evals?" I say hesitantly as I slide the document across the table. She gives it a quick peek, and that is all.

"Right. Dunno how you two survived that blast," she says under her breath and my heart stops at the allusion to _him_. "Any unusual bleeding?"

 _Yes, but that had nothing to do with the explosion._ "Only scrapes and bruises."

"Pain anywhere?"

 _In my ribs? Always._ "Nothing new."

"Any confusion, headaches?"

"Ummm... Both."

"Could you point out where your headache is?" she says as she prods at my temples.

"I think all over, really."

"Triggers for confusion?"

"They're random."

"Neck, throat, back?"

"All clear. Some pain in the neck and lower back but it's normal."

"Ears?"

"Ringing. Non-stop, pretty much."

"Alright, then. This way, please," she says as she leads me to the xray machine and tells me to remove my belt and jewellery. My throat and wrists and fingers and ears are bare, so there is nothing to remove.

On the xray there's nothing to signal but a hairline fracture in my wrist, so I move on to put my clothes back on. It's just my civilian clothes, a plain grey dress decorated only with lacy trims around the hem and short sleeves. Our new beginning--for those of whom made it out of Eren's madness--threw us in with people who appreciate niceties of life, and we too seem to have grown accustomed to it after the rough life within the walls.

Eren, Paradis, the military, the nobles, everything seems to flash before me, and the world spins until it no longer makes sense. I almost trip in my rush to get away and finish my evaluations so I can go back and hide in my dorm.

Seeing Jean waiting for me outside the nurse's office yanks me out of my thoughts, which seem only to loop around each other until my mind's in a tangle.

"Everything in order?" says Jean, who quickly tosses his cigarette in a trashcan and acts like he wasn't just smoking.

"Just this little splinter," I say, flashing the dark elastic that now keeps my wrist immobile. "I have a hairline fracture."

"Doesn't sound too bad," he says. "Let's go get your psych test done."

"Don't look so excited."

"About getting professional proof you're secretly insane? I would never."

I laugh a little, but I grow fidgety with every passing step, because we are getting closer to parting ways again and I cannot be left alone to my howling thoughts.

I want to ask Jean not to leave me here, but I can't muster up the courage to do that right up until I'm outside the doctor's door.

"Come in with me," I say, panicky, catching his sleeve with my fingers like a child. He's so tall that I have to look up at him.

"Umm," he stammers, "I--I don't think I'm supposed to do that."

"Please don't leave me," I beg, and my tears bite me again, but they are to my advantage so I do not blink them away, "please..."

He pauses for a moment, looking at me in hesitation. "Let me go in and ask them," he says eventually as he knocks and walks through the door. "Alright?"

I don't know what he says to them but he comes back thirty seconds later and beckons me over, closing the door behind me.

A male doctor in a dress shirt and loose trousers stands by the window, giving me a curt smile of greeting and gesturing at a chair before he takes a seat himself.

"So, you've had a blast!" he jokes, badly, clearing his throat when I do not laugh. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you new?"

"Yes."

"In that case I've been fantastic. Now clear me for duty."

"No. Are your ears ringing?"

"Yes. Clear me for duty."

"Mikasa," hisses Jean.

"Any confusion? Funny thoughts?" says the 'doctor'.

Yes to all the above, but I say nothing because my audience is making me self-conscious. But hey, it was my idea to bring Jean in here. He's standing by the window anyway, acting like he's giving my some privacy while still being present, but I know that he can't not be listening. Because _yeah_ , I have lots of funny thoughts. Flashes of black hair, steely blue eyes, a hard voice that knows only to bark unless it's in the middle of intercourse where it becomes smooth as marble the way it has no right to be, charming me like a flute player leading rats to their deaths.

Belly churning, heartbeat quickening, flushed face, sudden wetness between my legs.

"I'll take that as a yes," he mumbles when I only stare at him. "And how do you... feel?"

"I feel better than ever."

"Do you, indeed?" He scribbles something on a piece of paper, rips it off and hands it to me. "This is for the shock. It will help you relax, but don't take more than one a day, and don't mix it with alcohol."

"Thank you," I say, acting interested in the paper, but all that's on my mind is the fullness inside me when Levi fucked me. "Am I cleared?"

"No. Come back here when you feel more forthcoming if you do not wish to be banned from active duty for six months."

"Six _months_!?"

"If not more. When is your debriefing?"

"My convocation is for day after by the latest."

"Huh. You Ackermans sure have a knack for ending up with the short limit convocations." I grit my teeth in annoyance, displeasure, _pleasure,_ and if he notices my hard expression he hides it well. "At any rate... Come back when you feel like chatting."

"Jesus," I say under my breath as soon as I'm out the door and Jean clicks the door shut, "what an ass."

"Don't talk about yourself like that!"

"Oh? Funny guy today, eh."

"Ha-ha, just today? No. Anyway, it'll be alright. You can't walk into a doctor's office and start spouting orders, you know how those people are..." he trails off when he sees me staring off into space; or more precisely, staring out the window. "Hey. You good?"

"Yes, thank you." My heart, for some reason, is racing; I can feel a headache blooming, and I feel like I'm forgetting something. "Hmm..."

"Oops. Where are your reports?"

"Oh, damn, I left them with the receptionist."

"Wait here. I'll go grab them."

"Okay, but don't peek."

"Right," he laughs over his shoulder.

I am alone again, and terrified. Chills up and down my back, feeling as though something is about to happen.

I step outside to take a breath of fresh air, and the nightmare scenario manifests itself. Our eyes lock together and the world stops spinning.

 _He's_ leaning on the wall right next to the door, one hand in his coat pocket and the other loosely hanging on to a lit cigarette, halfway to his mouth. He freezes for a second before crushing his cigarette under his heel and facing me.

He's looking straight at me like nothing even happened between us. I am transfixed,

"Do you have a minute, Mikasa?" I salute him. "At ease," he says. "Are you well?"

"Not really." I try to dash back in through the door, but he's blocking my way, so I'm pretty much standing chest-to-chest with him.

"Are you alright?"

"Look, I won't tell anyone, okay." His eyes are on mine, so I am speaking to his belt, and wrapping my fingers around my wrist as surreptitiously as I can to soothe my pounding heart.

"What?"

"I said--"

"I heard you," he says, looking at me almost expectantly. I don't say anything, so he gives up. "Done with your check ups?"

"Yes, just."

"What are they saying?"

"I'm not clear to go back in yet."

"Unlucky," he laughs. "Me neither."

I say nothing, just stare at his lapels.

"So... You are well, aren't you?"

"I am well, sir. I trust you are well too."

"There was blood, I mean."

Suddenly I can't help staring at him, looking him right in the eye. Without my heels on, he's a fair bit taller than me, but he still falls back half a step. I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from doing something that will land me in prison again, like the last time I challenged him. _Erwin Smith, dead on a rooftop._ I shake the thought away, pass it off as a chill. "I am well aware, thank you."

"I... I'm sorry for what happened."

"If you gave a shit you wouldn't have even done that. So stop acting like it was some sort of accident, because it wasn't. It was deliberate violence."

My words make him drop the _oh, cigarette? what cigarette_? act that everybody's been playing around me lately, and he pulls out a new smoke and lights it with abrupt jerks of his hand.

I am breathing hard, and I am so angry at his blank face that I am transfixed on the spot, unable to move away.

"If you want to act like I raped you," he says casually after a long drag of his of his smoke, "go right ahead. You can go to Jean--oh yes, I saw him run back in--and tell him, if you like. But we both know the truth. I won't forget how you got all tight when you orgasmed around my cock when I was in you."

I whirl back and slap him, _hard_ , and I am sure he just let me do it because he barely budges, only briefly cocks his eyebrows and stares beyond my shoulder at the end of the street without quite looking at me as if to say, ' _whatever'_.

Unsatisfied, and nearly in tears, I try to slap him again, but this time his hand snaps up to grip my uninjured wrist and he presses it to his chest. His heart beats within his ribs, under the jacket, steady and slow, and he's looking down at me with such an earnest expression for a change that I collapse inwards into myself, ashamed, and I think, bashful because I can feel my cheeks getting warm.

"You know I am not here to disturb your peace," he says quietly, "and you know that tormenting you is the last thing I wish to do."

"Is it, really?" I laugh, but there is no humour there. I try to wrench my hand free of him, fervently hoping that my back to the building doesn't allow the vantage to see us like this. But he is just too strong.

"Yes it is," he says. "Really." He squeezes my hand, and emphatically presses it harder against him. "Please, I implore you to believe me. You know that we will be back on the field soon enough, and we will have to establish some peace between us."

"I'm sorry, but there will be no peace." I blurt.

"Don't be sorry," he says, laughing right back without smiling, shaking his head almost sadly as he steps back and turns away from me, propping the collar of his jacket against the cold. "I promise, I just wanted to check on you." I am suddenly confused by the chill that takes over me when he retreats.

I am so out of it that I barely realised that Jean's been there a moment, close by me, watching with a befuddled expression.

"Did you just try to slap him, Mikasa?" says Jean in mild horror.

"Uh, yeah."

"Lady, what even happened at the blast site? You're like a whole different people together."

"We got, I dunno, sorta confused after... Ah."

"Certainly don't want to get confused around you, if that's what I'll get for it," he mutters.

I give him a little smile, but inside I am trembling.

I tuck my hair behind my ears when I'm sure that Jean's watching me, and I take his arm--he hesitantly lets me--and I am sharply aware of Levi watching me from behind as we move back to the barracks.

He reminds me to stop by the pharmacy for the prescription. Just as I finish paying up, Jean asks to have a look at my pills.

"Take it easy on these," he says as he squints at the tiny writing on the packaging. "It's not going to be funny if you start needing them for real."

"I will, Jean."

"Okay, then," he says with his hands in his pockets, and it sounds like a goodbye, like he's itching to get away from me.

"Thank you," I say. "You've been taking really good care of me." I duck my head, uncertain how to proceed under his watchful gaze. "Please say something."

"You're welcome, of course."

"Okay."

He rubs my arm, as though he can see what's going through my mind. "I'm not leaving yet. I'll take you back to the barracks, and then I've got something to take care of."

"Alright. Let's go, then."

He doesn't enter the female wing of the dorms. That's just not done around here.

"Will you be alright?" he says, already digging into his pocket for a cigarette.

"Of course." I'm always alright, aren't I?

I lie down, and that's that for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated some of the tags, and likewise updated the descriptions. I am sincerely sorry for the delay, but since I've been better for who knows how long I am going to take advantage of it. Next chapter should be up very soon, perhaps even today
> 
> Thinkin of postin this on FF and tumblr too, just in case we still have Rikamika/Jeankasa fans around


	4. Ocean Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just Levi jackin off

Dead man walking. Neck hurts, stomach hurts, leg hurts. Mouth feels good.

I can still taste her lips. I can still see her outraged little face during our run-in earlier, framed by that silky black hair.

From killing titans to dedicating my heart to recovering lost puppies. And getting fifty promotions for it.

I close my eyes, remember her sweetness around my cock. My palm is flat on the bathroom tiles. Hot water rolls off my shoulders, drips off the tips of my dark hair. There's the pleasure coiling in my stomach as I try my utter best not to remember her body almost under mine, pressed to the tree. And there's my fist, coming up to pump my cock with throttling strokes as I get myself hard thinking about my young subordinate. Mature, pretty, and fuckable now that I think of it. Her features lengthened, blossomed, all right under my nose as time passed. And yet I never noticed.

I am a disgusting man, a pathetic and lonely man.

But it's okay, I remember the feel of her sweet breast under my palm when I first had her. The delight of the slap she delivered to me yesterday. Her warm hand, flat on my chest where I hold it tight to force her to listen to me.

The strength with which I grip my erection, pumping up and down, up and down, would choke a man's throat.

I felt how she enjoyed the violence in the way she squirmed in ecstasy, I felt it in the way her sweet little cunt tightened around me. I felt how she was a slut for it, how she's been waiting for it her entire life.

I groan, unrestrained and loud because I know nobody will hear me in my expensive apartment in an expensive location. I keep stroking myself, braced with a forearm pressed to the tiles of my shower and throwing my head back in the drunkenness of my pleasure as I whisper her name, squeezing my eyes shut and pacing my strokes so I don't come too quickly. Oh, but it is a challenge. I cannot resist picturing her pushing back against me, encouraging me to fuck her the way she wants it. Rapidly, the thought morphs into various ones: on top me, topless, underneath me on my bed, once again topless. In the shower, here with me, on her knees, her little mouth wrapped around my dick.

Too soon, my orgasm reaches its peak. I pull my hand away; it takes all my will, and I gasp as my erection twitches and I know that I will come anyway so I squeeze the head of my cock. Unable to prolong it further, I hiss, and ejaculate in strong spurts, splashing the dark bathroom tiles with thick, milky ropes of my come.

"Ah, _fuck_..." I grunt as my muscles all convulse.

I am panting hard, shuddering, leaning forward for support and squeezing my eyes shut to hear her voice, still stroking the tip of my dick which is pleasurably sensitive.

I am forced to laugh. This orgasm, pathetically achieved as it was, was still superior to what I've gotten in the past. I could settle for this. I could go around fucking my other ladies for variety and masturbating when I get bored of them. I don't need to have Mikasa be mine. She slapped me. It's not right, anyway. She's a child. She's a baby, she's like what, half my age? Probably a relative to booth?

I reach out to clear off my ejaculate, but I pause. For a split second I see it all on her skin, pale and smooth, my come on her neck and her face, her breasts, her flesh unmarred if it weren't for the battle scars littering her flesh--her _cheek_ \-- but oddly the thought of it makes her all the more enchanting.

Nevertheless I feel a biting anger at Eren for what he did to her face. The heat of my emotion shocks me into stillness, stripping away the delicious heat of the orgasm I just achieved reached.

All thought of giving up on her is ripped from my mind; I want to keep her for myself. There's no one else for me. And after me, I doubt there will be anyone else for her.

I have made up my mind. If she doesn't come to me herself, which she will, I will go to her--after all, even if she tells me to fuck off, it won't be my first time losing my dignity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half-relevant-to-the-plot smut because I might very well have skin cancer so fuck it I'm not going to spend my time waiting for better days.


	5. Some Kind of Symmetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa has a nightmare, and Jean is there.

It's Eren. He's hitched my skirt up to my hips, now he's got my throat in his hands. I'm against a tree, and it feels rough, and suddenly it feels amazing inside me. It feels full and warm, like I am doing what I was born to do. This is what I was meant to do, to warm up a man with my body, let him use me, whenever and wherever and however he needs it. By pleasuring him, I am fulfilling my life's mission. It's all I've ever wanted. I want him to find his pleasure inside me, I want to bear seed with him, _for_ him, yes, _yes_ , I can already picture them, our dark-haired children, I am moaning, I am telling him how much I love him and how much I've wanted this and waited for this. I can feel his nails digging into my hip and there's the bite on my neck, and now it hurts and I love it. He's still squeezing my neck, hard, harder yet, I have to fight if I want to live, I can't die now, there's so much I must do...!

Suddenly he's shaking me by the shoulders. _Can't you see? Can't you see!? Look at yourself! You whore. You are weak. Weak, I say! Are you listening?_

_Mikasa?_

_Mikasa!_

"Mikasa...!?"

"Oh, what?" I say hoarsely. My throat feels raw. Warm hands at my shoulders are shaking me awake.

"You're having a bad dream." It's Jean; I hear him, see his worried expression through the moonlight. He's looking down at me as he leans over my bed, smelling of aftershave and coffee.

"I... What time is it? How long was I asleep?"

"I don't know how long you slept," he says as he pinches the bridge of his nose while he retreats to the armchair by the table where I keep my papers and takes a seat, "but it's eleven at night." He closes his eyes, still gripping his nose.

"How did you get in here?"

"The guards brought me up here... the girls were too afraid of getting close because you were thrashing around." He doesn't move out of his slouch, nor does he open his eyes.

"Thrashing?" That explains the ache in my muscles.

"Well. I don't know about that, but you were yelling something about Eren and the Captain by the time I arrived." I try not to panic, and not to ask what I was saying exactly, but the words escape from my throat before I can stop them.

"What was I saying?"

"I'm not sure..." Maybe he doesn't want to say it because he knows it will embarrass me?

My mind reels with sheer terror over what I might have said. I too mortified to look at him. "God, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. I had to take a break anyway. They've been hammering us to find the source of the explosion, pretty much running on two hours of sleep since then..."

"I'm sorry you have to babysit me..." I say vaguely.

"Yeah, well," he laughs without really sounding amused, "I have unofficially become your designated babysitter. Look how everyone turns to me to help you."

His muscles are bulging under his shirt as his arms move around to pat his pockets... I can tell he's itching for a cigarette. When he sees me watching him he immediately withdraws his hand, which he then runs down his face. He sighs into his fingers, as though nursing a headache, and it is at this point that I become aware of the throbbing between my legs, the wetness and the ache. This is new, I tell myself. But no, there's no change; it's always been there. Who am I kidding? I've always been hungry for it, like a whore.

"Is that why you came here? To help me?"

I swing my legs over the bed, already trembling with apprehension over what I'm about to do. I am bare-footed. He leans as far back as his chair would allow when I approach him, and his knuckles are straining against his skin as he grips the armrests. Oh, he knows what's coming, and he's already grappling with his conscience.

I plant myself right in front of him, toe-to-toe, and he instinctively leans back, lacing his arms over the armrests. He opens his mouth, to whisper an apprehensive " _Yes._ "

"And you're staying back to help me?"

"Yes."

"Wrong. Do you know why you're still here, Jean? Because I do." He says nothing, staring at me with something close to terror in his eyes.

The shoulder of the long shirt I wore to bed slips down my shoulder. I let it happen. When I see his eyes slide to my exposed skin, for the fraction of a second before coming back up to my eyes, I know I am closer to winning than he is. He stammers something, I don't know what, and then when I don't respond, he takes in a deep breath to say, slow and calm, "I don't know what you're on about. I was alerted about you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night so I'm here to help." It's the frail bleating of a sheep who knows he has lost.

"You're not here because you want to _help_ me, Jean." He's watching me, weary, alarmed almost, and there is a charge in the air that I know he can perceive because he's breathing far too heavily for it to mean nothing. I put my foot next to his thigh in a distinct attempt to encourage him. To say it out loud. His thumb twitches close to my calf, as though he wants to caress my skin. But suddenly he withdraws.

"Don't make me regret coming here," he says, his tone completely lacking the bite he means to inject in there.

"Why would you regret this, Jean?"

"Behave yourself."

"Why?" I straddle him fully, my hands on his shoulders and his hands immediately coming up to grip me by my upper arms, hard, holding me off.

When I lean in to kiss him, he turns away and gives me the cheek. The stubble on his skin is rough, but his flesh is warm. He feels solid and masculine under me. "You're not in your right mind."

"I've never been more in my right mind," I whisper back. I'm not sure I mean it, in fact I am fairly certain I don't, but this is my chance; and everything about that little detail feels so _right_ because I can just brush it under the carpet named _insanity_.

"I know you had a close brush with death and all but it doesn't mean you should act like this."

"Act like what...? Do I offend you?"

He is rendered speechless as I lift my top a little, exposing my thighs. Once more his eyes flick down for the briefest moment until he wrenches his gaze away, jaw set. It makes me happy; it lends some validity to my vision. I am not stupid; I know what I look like. I know that rare is the healthy, red-blooded male who could turn me down without a sound fight against his own biological impulses. And Jean as far as I know, has no reason to fight himself in the first place.

Unless he does...?

He's a handsome man, tall and charming and successful. These types never stay single for long. The jealousy that scratches at my ribs lashes out, and I bring the hammer into the fight; _touch_. I press my palms to his chest, feeling his muscles, letting him feel my warmth. It is a vague attempt at seduction, and yet one he isn't immune to because he closes his eyes and inhales sharply. Still, I have to wonder; has he replaced me with another, in his heart? It's not like he and I keep in touch much, despite being pretty much the last Eldians on the planet. Many things could have easily happened without my knowing. He could be engaged for all I know, even married. I don't keep up with the gossip around here.

My eyes sting from the shame of imagining rejection.

"Are you with someone?"

His eyes flutter open, he scoffs. "For God's sake, no. As if I have the time for _that_ nonsense. Or the patience."

I hate how he sounds like he speaks from experience, but I love how helplessly he avoids my gaze, not pushing me off, not shifting away from my touch, silent for the longest time. "Then why don't you want me?"

"I _do_ want you," he says hotly, my heart stopping as his lips nearly brush against mine when he turns his head to finally meet my gaze.

"Then take me," I murmur against his mouth, just as the back of his knuckles caress a line up my thigh. I shudder. All at once he squeezes my leg with his long fingers, hard, and I gasp, jerking away from the pain. I guide his hand to my breast, forcing him to press his palm to me fully. It's not easy. He's found it in him to resist, and he's got solid hands, and he's stronger than me since I've stopped exercising. But there is a weakness in him present in every man. His pulse is quick under my thumb, his chest is pounding hard. You could almost hear it over silence of the room if it weren't for my own thrumming heart. He presses his palm flat on my chest, between my breasts, warm and large through my thin, pale shirt, and he caresses a line up to my throat, watching me with shiny eyes. "There's nothing wrong with a little bit of..." I can't finish. I hope he can't see me blushing. I feel ridiculous. I'd be hiding my face in my pillow if he weren't here.

He barely seems to notice how stupid I feel.

"Jesus," he mutters, his eyes fixed on my collar at the swell of my breasts.

"Touch me, Jean, you--" He doesn't let me finish. He surges to his feet, taking me with him with my legs wrapped around his waist and flipping us around so I'm against the wall.

His lips are cool and soft when he presses them to mine. It's not even a kiss, until his lips slide against mine and he's doing it so well, so gently that I am soon lightheaded. Compared to him I'm fumbling, but I catch on to what he likes quickly enough and then it's all teeth and tongue, shedding years of frustration and being ignored by me into this one, single, heady embrace.

When I roll my hips against his, using my legs as leverage where they are crossed around his waist, he hisses at the friction of his engorged length against my cunt. He feels absolutely massive through our clothes, and when he rocks against me right back just right all I can do is turn away to whimper and close my eyes, letting the crumbs of promised passion in my belly rule how I move against his body.

Jean catches my lips again, coaxes my mouth open with his tongue, as soon as I obey I taste him, warm and soft underneath the taste of ashtray and caffeine. I am trembling at the feeling of his fingers digging into my thighs, bruising me, reminding me that no matter how long I've known him, how deeply I've trusted him, how many times he's saved me, he is a man and no matter what there is danger there.

I shake away the memory of the tree.

I am gasping and bucking against him when his mouth finds my neck, almost drawing away at the feel of his rough stubble scratching up my smooth skin. I am hopelessly rubbing myself up against him, hoping to soothe the ache in my cunt before it drives me insane.

He tosses me onto the bed, removing his jacket to throw it on the chair, tugging his shirt loose of his trousers without taking his eyes off me and watching me for a moment with his arms hanging loose by his sides. The muscles on his chest, his arms, are quite remarkable even hidden under a shirt. I am reeling from the sudden impact against the bed, but still I have never been more aware of a man's body before. And the way he looks at me: a purely masculine stare, one of anticipation and victory, and while it takes every shred of courage that I have not to break eye contact I can feel my heart fluttering like a small animal's.

My face is hot, my breath quick and shallow, and despite his state of arousal I can feel that he is calm as ever in the manner that reaches forward and pulls me to him with one fist wrapped around my ankle, once again reunited at the hip.

I hesitantly finger the hem of my night shift. My nervousness is paralysing me, and I think he knows because he helps me: his hand is flat and frantic against my skin as he pushes my skirt up, my thigh, then my hip, and I get the feeling he wants to push it all the way up so I grab his wrist to stop him. Even his wrist is thick and strong. He slides my knickers down my legs, discards it on the side table as he readjusts his position on top of me. I am already heaving, running my fingers through his hair, marvelling at the smoothness, caressing his cheek as he presses his lips to mine.

His feet are still on the floor, his boots are still on. His clothes are still on. And I have been bared from waist to toe. It's cold, and I feel as though I might as well be wearing tissue paper by the way he's looking at me.

"You've done this before?" he rasps as he unbuckles his belt, his eyes still roaming over my body.

I can't bring myself to use my words; besides, the answer is a complex, so I nod into his shoulder when he leans forward to kiss my neck. I know when his erection is free of his clothes because I feel its heat against my opening.

"Speak up now if you're not sure about this," he says, "because if you change your mind later I won't be able to stop." One look at the narrow-eyed face, the tight jaw, and I know this is a warning not to be ignored.

"I am," I whisper.

"Tell me if you need me to slow down." I shriek as he pushes all the way in with two swift shoves. He groans against my collarbone, grinding his hips against mine.

My back arches up at the stress of the intrusion. He's big. I'm filled up to the point of pain, but I do not want to stop him because I wanted this, I asked for it. I let it hurt. I like it.

I am horrified with myself when, for a brief second, I wonder whose cock is bigger. I barely had a look at Levi; all I knew was that I had to feel something, _anything_ but the terror.

I don't care, I don't care, it's just Jean now.

Lacing my arms over his arms where they support his body, I turn my face to kiss him. When he kisses me back he doesn't stop thrusting, his harsh breathing drawing out my soft moans.

"You're tight as _fuck_ ," he groans into my mouth.

I whimper, sinking my nails into his back where I can reach it under his shirt until he grunts in pain and holds my arm down. Helpless, I roll my hips up against him, desperate to feel maximum pain, feel him deeper inside me where it really hurts.

"Stop that," he says, his words rough and low, "shut up or you're gonna make me come." I catch sight of his face, and his expression is stern, angry almost, brow drawn low in concentration, and I could almost make myself come at the imagination of what he must be feeling right now.

It's all me, I did it all this. I'm the one making him tremble and gasp, and it was my body that had made Levi lose his mind all out of nowhere.

"Harder, please Jean, please hurt me," I beg, and he delivers. A sharp cry tears from my throat and my nails dig into his back as he sets a hard pace, the pace of a desperate man finally having a first drink of water in centuries.

Braced against the small bed, he fucks me until my throat is raw from holding back my moaning, the force of his thrusts making the headboard bang against the wall and drowning out my choked whimpering.

He tries to lift my leg under his arm for a deeper penetration, but I gasp, frantically pushing at his hands, and he stops immediately, instead the fury of his thrusts doubling up until the bed is creaking under the force of our fuck.

His smooth hair is over my face, tickling me. I imagine feeling the brush of black hair on my forehead, and dismiss that thought instantly by whispering his name, that of the man on top of me right now. "Jean..."

Trees, betrayals, explosions, ah Levi, Levi the first man who had me, Levi who fucked me against a tree, it felt so _good_.

"You feel so good," he spits out against my neck.

I kiss him again, and our moans, his grunts and my helpless cries, are muted against each other's mouths.

When he breaks out kiss, it's to stand upright and hold my legs from under my knee, keeping my firmly in place as he pounds me so forcefully it's almost too much for me. I have to hold my mouth shut with a palm tight on my face to keep from crying out, caught in the building pleasure.

"Come inside me," I say, yes, I want to erase every bit of what Levi touched--no, no I don't, I want to keep it, I need it again.

Suddenly he pulls me into him, also pushing in as deep as he can and he throws his head back with a swear, with a warning that he might come too soon and that is all I needed. I twist my head to bite my bedsheets to muffle a long moan, my entire body stiffening as the thrill of my toe-curling orgasm penetrates every nerve in my body.

Inside my pulsing cunt, he too finds his relief with a low groan, shuddering as I feel his load of ejaculate release inside me, every throb of his cock making my belly churn with dazed pleasure. I have to reach up to caress his chest, I have to keep myself from losing my mind.

" _Fuck_ ," he mutters as he draws it out for as long as we can stand, rocking against me slowly, gently, his heart pounding against my palm, until finally his muscles go limp, spent to the point of quivering where he stands. He delicately lets go of my legs to lean forward on the bed, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. As he stands there, collapsed with his palms next to my shoulders and panting, hair and clothes messy from sex, he looks at me. Without being prompted, he reaches down and pulls the hem of my shirt down to cover my thighs. He leans down to me then, slides his tongue into my mouth, kissing me so long and slow that I forget about everything else in the world, knowing nothing but the heat of our bodies.

He withdraws from me, and the spell is broken. He turns away to swiftly buckle himself up, he loosely fixes his hair with his fingers. He turns back to watch me sit up in my bed. In the dark of the moon, I can see the flush high on his face, faint and elegant. I don't know what to say to him, although I bristle a little when he gives me a little smile and pats his pocket for a cigarette.

I seize his wrist to stop him, and I can feel him trying to resist me. "Stay with me," I say, softening my voice, and suddenly his hand isn't so stiff anymore. "Take your shoes off."

He nods slowly. He kneels to unlace his boots, hesitantly standing there until I pick a side on my bed and pat the spot next to mine. movements to settle himself down next to me. "Lie down," I say. I lace my leg over his, turning to my flank so he can feel my body against him, and in the comfort I provide I do feel him giving in until his solid form is relaxed.

He's running his fingers through my hair, uncertainly at first, and then he grows bolder when I hum in satisfaction. And yet there is a disquiet; I can feel something hanging in the air every time his breath hitches, as if he desperately wants to say something but doesn't know how.

"Who was he?" He asks, his voice a little tight.

"Who?"

"The man who had you before me. Who was he?"

I am red up to my roots as I respond, deliberately quite slow. "Captain Levi Ackerman."

He scoffs, punching the bed with the back of his fist. "Fine, don't tell me then."

"You have no right to be angry."

"I suppose not," he says tersely. "I've done it, you've done it, we're even."

"That's better." Suddenly, I add, "Who have you done it with?"

He snorts with laughter. "You sure you wanna know? I can't even count anymore." The same biting jealousy from before hovers in the background, but this time I contain it with the satisfaction that if he liked any of them enough he wouldn't really be here. I almost say yes, I want to know, but I know I'm better off not knowing. It's okay, I win anyway. Levi got to me before he did anyway, and no matter what I tell myself, I _liked_ it.

I stiffen at the thought. I liked it. I wanted it, I may have even begged for it, even though much of it is foggy in my memory.

If only the panic hadn't diluted the pleasure of hearing him groan from the heat of my body.

Jean pulls me back to him, to the present, with the deep rumble of his voice and a gentle caress of his thumb on my back. "Mikasa?"

"Yes?"

"You know I've never stopped thinking about you. Since we were trainees, and since we joined the Scouts. Not even once."

"Stop." _It's making me feel terrible._

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

"You don't have to say anything," he says gently. "I know you had other priorities back then." And I know that he means it, because that's just the person he is.

"You're lovely, Jean."

He huffs out a little chuckle, and closes his eyes before he presses a kiss to my forehead.

"Don't leave before I'm asleep," I say to him.

"I won't," he whispers. He smooths the hair away from my cheek with his fingers. "But don't kill me if I pass out here. I'm trashed."

"You deserve it."

"To be trashed?"

"To sleep here!" I laugh, already half gone into a deep sort of slumber, I can feel it in my heavy eyelids.

He's saying something about coffee, cigarettes something something bomb blast I don't know what. I try to make sense of the jumble, but then I give up. I'm too tired anyway, too satisfied with how my body feels to let it be spoiled with talks of blasts, etcetera. Nestling into his neck, I inhale his scent and let the soft, soapy aftershave pull me to the dream world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm eternally grateful for all the lovely comments I got last time, thank you so much for your support everybody <3
> 
> As always, enjoy and let me know what you think, I love feedback! xx

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot with a -normal- Mikasa but I'm fucked in the head so it's turning out to be much longer... Again.  
> On another note, some of you Rivamika shippers from my other fic commenting on how Rivamika brought you to me in the first place prompted me to remember my Levi-worshipping days so congratulations, heathens XD you're sinking my fucking ship bros
> 
> As always, your feedback is deeply appreciated <3


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